


A Quiet Love

by sylvain



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Affection, Comfort, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Love Confessions, Mild Blood, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26696632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylvain/pseuds/sylvain
Summary: Tumblr prompt/request: Mikey comes home from a battle and is comforted by a quiet evening with his (gender neutral) significant other.
Relationships: Michelangelo (TMNT)/Reader, Michelangelo (TMNT)/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	A Quiet Love

You aren't usually one to pace, but after seeing the guys return from patrol, you're pretty sure the carpet under your feet has worn thin.

Not a single turtle came off the streets unscathed, but the sight of Mikey almost brought you to your knees. It would do neither of you any good to collapse, so you kissed his face as he passed--finding one small patch of unbloodied skin by his ear--and told him that you'd take care of him tonight. 

"Take your time," you had said, grazing your hand over the unraveling wraps on his wrist, "I'll be here."

Mikey nodded, his expression still pinched but the haunted look in his eyes had begun to fade. He wanted to turn to you, wrap you in his arms, but he couldn’t relax just yet. Even his wounds could wait, as none were that serious--most of the blood that covered him wasn’t his. There were weapons to clean, gear to inventory; and more than anything, Mikey needed a shower. Evidence of the night’s fight clung to his skin. He couldn’t bear it if he passed along the filth and detritus of patrol to you.

With a delicate touch, Mikey boops your nose to let you know everything is alright. It doesn’t do much to quell your surface anxieties, but the worst of your fears dissolve knowing he has enough presence of mind to share in your signal of safety before he leaves the room.

By the time he returns to the living space he and his family share, you’re seated in the far corner of the couch absent-mindedly flipping through the latest issue of Game Informer. The sight of you comfortably at home in his space is enough to settle a weighted calm over Mikey’s heart. He doesn’t bother with words. His head is pounding, swimming after the knocks he took. When he lies along the cushions and pillows his head in your lap, you put the magazine down readily accepting Mikey and his silence.

His broad shoulders shimmy into place against your thigh. You run your thumb over a bit of paint still on the edge of his shell. He was too exhausted, too distracted by thoughts of the night and thoughts of finally resting with you, to scrub it all off. He’ll ask you to help him once he recovers a bit. Now, the only thing Mikey wants to do is be here with you. The only thing he needs to focus on is your grounding presence. 

Your hand slides over his shoulder to the center of his chest where you feel each slow inhale and exhale. You feel his heartbeat. Everything is slowing down, as it should. He’s not speaking about the night, but he’s not letting it consume his thoughts either.

His eyes fall closed the second you lay your hand upon his cheek. You don’t say a word. Not yet. You know nights like this can be too much. Everything can be too much. You’ll wait for his cue. His head in your lap is a request for quiet, light affection. And you provide. 

There are deep furrows above his brow ridge. You smooth them with gentle strokes, only pressing harder when he hums at the touch. You almost ask, “Headache?” but he lets out a soft groan with a confession, “Hurts,” and your unasked question is answered.

You change the position of your hands so that you’re rubbing circles at his temples and using your thumbs to drag slow lines outward over his forehead in the way you know soothes him.

Under your ministrations, Mikey is able to focus on something other than the pulsing pain behind his eyes and the uncomfortable pressure in his skull. The counterpressure of your massage feels like heaven and you’ve always been his angel. He sinks into a soft space of relief under your hands. 

After a few minutes, the tension in his body eases up. For a long stretch, he lies limp, floating in the comfort and safety of your touch. Slowly, he comes back to himself. He reaches overhead to bring your hand down and brushes his lips over your knuckles. 

He sits up with a moan as his worn joints and bruises protest, but soon he’s cuddled against your side, nuzzling into your neck. “Movie?” He asks, his voice rough from the dreamy spell you’ve put him under. You shrug, not really in the mood for anything in particular but willing to do whatever as long as you’re with him. 

You pet his sweet face as he blinks down at you wearily. You can tell his headache isn’t completely gone by the way his cheek twitches under his eye. You worry that staring at a screen will make it worse. But maybe there’s something you can do together that will ease him to sleep instead.

“We could just lay here,” you suggest.

Mikey shifts and you turn his face back to yours. You place a kiss on his nose and rest your forehead atop his head. “What is it, babe?” you ask gently.

“Need a distraction.” His blue eyes swim with both mental and physical exhaustion. Long nights of patrolling taking their toll. He looks at you, asking for your understanding so of course you give it.

You find reruns of Match Game on the Game Show Network. There’s no danger of stumbling into talks about the current state of the world. And no plot compelling enough to keep Mikey from sleep once he gets tired enough to drift. 

Your caresses keep Mikey’s mind present and grounded as you watch together. The feather light touch of your fingers trails over Mikey’s scalp, neck, and shoulder and he keens. 

When you pass over the inside of his elbow, the muscles of his arm jump and you apologize for making Mikey flinch. But when you shift your attention from your hand to his face, you see a small twitch at the corner of Mikey’s mouth and it looks like the birth of a smile. 

Gazing down at him, you quirk your head to the side. “You Ok?”

Mikey’s smile meets the world and it’s tender and light and beautiful as always. “Ticklish.”

After all the months you’ve been together, you didn’t know about that spot. You pass your fingers over the sensitive skin again and revel at his little twist and squeak. 

“I love you,” you say, staring down at him, lost in the light of his smile. It’s the first time you’ve said it and it just bubbles out of you as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Evenso, the heat of embarrassment rises up from your collar to your cheeks.

Mikey’s smile only grows wider. He reaches up to touch the tip of your nose as he says, “Love you too, silly.” 

He cups your cheek and draws you down, rises up to meet you halfway. It’s nothing like the quick peck you gave him upon his return to the lair. Back when anxiety had your heart in your stomach and your stomach in knots. This kiss is a gentle meeting of your lips, a slow pressure of give and take. There’s no rush, no fear. Your eyes close as Mikey shares your breath and the worries of the night disappear as you lose yourselves in each other. 


End file.
